


An Offer She Won't Accept

by Leni



Series: First Meetings [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Gen, background Astrid/Leroy, background Belle/Rumpelstiltskin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10053134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni/pseuds/Leni
Summary: @still-searching47 asked: First Meetings!Emma: Have you ever bluntly told anyone to piss off when they go on about Neal being wonderful, and Gold being a monster?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stillsearching47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillsearching47/gifts).



“That you, Swan?” said an unfamiliar male voice behind Emma.

In the last three months, Emma had learned not to be startled by the friendly overtures of near strangers. From the waitresses at Belle’s favorite diner, where Emma would come a couple times a week to have lunch and a moment to herself, to school teachers, to hopeful prospective babysitters (since it seemed that the Gold household was known for giving good tips), everyone had taken the chance to introduce themselves.

Emma guessed her mistake had been not to mark her personal space from the start, but as used as she’d been to being ignored, she hadn’t seen the warning signs until it was too late. Now people in Storybrooke had the unnerving habit of coming up to her as if she were one of them, and though their easy welcome into their midst was something her younger self would have adored, at eighteen she felt her cynical side take over and wonder whether such niceness was an attempt to have her carry a good word to her son’s grandfather.

Hell would freeze before Gold was treated with any likeness of friendship on the street, but Emma had been quick to notice that both she and Belle were often the objects of kindnesses that were quickly followed by a mention of hard times, death or illness in the family, and how stressful it was to keep up with rent.

How Gold and Belle dealt with it, Emma had no idea. One time or two she had overheard the two of them discuss whether a particular tenant deserved an extension, and since once Gold had looked put upon yet resigned and the next it was Belle who couldn’t win the argument, Emma supposed they relied on their years of acquaintanceship among Storybrooke’s inhabitants.

Since a few months gave her little idea of anyone’s true circumstances, Emma had taken to smile vaguely and stress that she wasn’t involved in Gold’s business.

“But who’s looking for your boy’s interests?” one of the more insistent guys had asked her, nodding at a sleeping Henry.

Emma had scowled. “His grandfather, of course.” Before she could get upset at yet another reference that Gold couldn’t be trusted - which would mean she was no reliable judge of character and thus a bad mother - she stood up and grabbed for Henry’s carrier. “Now, if you excuse me...”

“But---”

“Leroy!” the owner of the diner had cut in, glaring the shorter man down as she swiped a cup clean. “You leave that girl alone right now. Little Henry needs a nap, and the noise your mouth is making would disturb any body’s sleep.”

Emma had mouthed a thank you at Mrs. Lucas before leaving.

The woman and Gold could bicker on whether the sky was blue and the grass was green - though it seemed that the price for extra pickles had been settled long ago, as Gold was the only one who actually got charged for them and, to Emma’s surprise, he never complained about being singled out.

“I’d have bet he would hit the roof,” she had told Belle that night when they had returned home.

Belle had smiled. “She charged extra to needle him on our first official date after everyone found out about us. Believe me, everyone was staring and expecting Aaron to grow a set of claws and start growling. Instead he shrugged and told Granny no expense was too much as long as he was enjoying my company.” Belle’s eyes were bright at the memories of the happier times of their courtship. Emma had become aware that their relationship hadn’t been the easy road she had assumed after first meeting them, so she didn’t mind too much to discover that Henry’s reserved grandfather could be something of a sap. “At the end of the night, Ruby came up to us with a paper bag - a piece of lemon meringue pie - and told us Granny had sent it specifically for me.” Belle raised up the little bag Emma had noticed her picking up at the end of their stay in the diner, but hadn’t really paid attention to. “Since I prefer chocolate, but this is practically the only thing Aaron will order outside hamburgers, I like to think of it as a peace offering.”

Emma had raised an eyebrow. Didn't mention Granny's offer to let her rent a room for herself and Henry for practically nothing. “Or a continued request to keep him sweet?”

“Oh, Granny never ‘requests’ anything.” Belle had laughed. “It is an order. But I’m happy to obey it!”

Emma had laughed too, musing that old people had such weird ideas about friendship. But if Gold and Mrs. Lucas could have their little ritual and still glare and snipe at each other, it gave her hope that someday she would find good friends as well.

She could start by responding to a friendly greeting with something other than exasperation. “Hello,” she said, turning to her right and hoping she would recognize the man on sight. To her relief, she did. Ruby had practically squeezed her arm while pointing him out a few days before. “Mr. Jones,” she greeted him, reminding herself to smile and also hoping he’d take the hint to address her more formally.

The man gave her a wide, handsome smile, leaning on his elbow on the back of the booth across hers.

Late-twenties, laughing blue eyes, a delicious accent, and leather in all the right places. As an example of the male of the species, he had more than his share of advantages. One of Storybrooke’s best qualities was the abundance of handsome males. Even the shy psychiatrist Belle had introduced her to would have been appealing if not for the professional distance.

Jones’ more confident expression was quite charming, and Emma found herself smiling sincerely in exchange.

“No ‘mister’, love. Captain Jones, that’s me.” He made a little bow, which should have looked silly in a small town diner in Maine, but somehow he pulled it off smoothly. “The Jolly Roger might not come to port after assaulting the seven seas, but she’s a trusty old girl and I’m proud to captain her.”

Emma smothered a smile at that bit of silliness. He had sounded serious, and she really was in too good a mood to antagonize strangers. “Aye, aye, captain!” she said cheekily.

Jones let out a loud laugh. “You know what,” he said, amused and lifting his glass of lemonade toward her in a silent toast to her wit, “Bae’s girl gets to call me Killian.”

Emma felt her good mood vanish into thin air. “I’m not Baelfire’s anything,” she said coldly, lifting her chin. It had been a relief to find out that only a couple of people judged her for having become an unwed mother, but to her shock a good part of that goodwill came from the popular theory that their golden boy would have returned and done right by her if that rotten father of his hadn’t alienated ‘poor sweet Bae’ and forced him away.

Emma grit her teeth and thought that the only reason she sometimes wished to see Neal again was so the desperate look in Gold’s eye when the subject of his son came up would disappear.

“You aren’t?” Jones chuckled. “Then what about that little mite of yours? The work of the Holy Spirit, is it?”

Emma didn’t share in the joke. Instead she narrowed her eyes and glared until Jones gave an uncomfortable cough.

“Was just kidding, love,” he muttered, raising his hands palms up over his chest.. “Little Bae and I were pals for a little while. I've been out doing a bit of sailing the last couple of months, but I heard about you as soon as I made port. Thought I’d come up and see if you minded if I shared a few stories about him. The real Bae, I mean. Not the goody-two-shoes, straight-A, little hero everyone’s made him out to be.”

Emma pursed her lips. While the bitterness of months of loneliness demanded that she heard these stories and finally have something to counteract the recount of Neal’s good actions as told by Storybrooke, her gut instinct pressed her to ignore the offer.

A little disgruntled with herself and half-wishing her instinct was wrong more often so she could justify ignoring it, Emma shook her head. “Don’t bother, captain.“

“Killian,” he reminded her, smiling again. The smile lost a bit of brightness as Emma’s unimpressed gaze fixed on his, and finally shrugged. “Or not,” he said ruefully, letting out an exaggerated sigh of mourning. He recovered at once, though, planting yet another smile on his face. “Call me anything you wish, Swan,” he told her. Then he put down his glass and reached into a pocket, extracting a card. “Any time, anywhere. Understood?”

Surprised by the gesture, Emma took the offered card. It was plain cream, with his name and contact information in bold black letters, the only decoration an old world boat watermarked on the back. Jones was smiling, a cheerful smile that invited her to respond in kind.

Perhaps if he hadn't introduced himself as Neal's buddy, Emma would have been open to the friendship. It wasn't as if a teenage mother with a quick temper and little patience had her pick of friends in a small town where everyone her age had known each other since kindergarten. That Jones was a decade older would have raised red flags in the city, but here they were at the most popular diner and, more importantly, Mrs. Lucas hadn't rushed in to warn him off.

He had to be all right, then.

Pity that Emma had no interest in hearing about Neal's past.

"No offense," she told him with an apologetic shrug, "but I really couldn't care less about whatever your pal got up to when nobody was looking."

Jones chuckled, ignoring the card she was offering back. Finished his lemonade and straightened without taking it. "Keep it, love," he said. "Just in case you... Well. There's always a place on my boat for someone running from the croc--- I mean, for someone who's seen Gold for what he is."

Emma reared back. "Excuse me?"

Jones laughed, already turning away. "You'll see," he threw over his shoulder.

Emma stared at him, fighting down the urge to grab him and set him straight. In the middle of the crowded lunch hour. Gold wouldn't appreciate being the subject of a public scene; and anyway Jones had detoured from the exit to greet the Nolans at their usual table.

Getting into an argument in front of the Sheriff didn't seem too clever, so Emma bit her tongue and stewed by herself while she sipped from her chocolate cup.

Her solitude didn't last for long.

"There you are, Miss Swan," said a different voice. Female. The curt tone immediately put Emma on edge. Where Jones had charm pouring out of his ears, this voice was authoritative and obviously regarded politeness as a necessary burden. "A moment?"

With a sigh, Emma turned around. Her eyebrows snapped up when she recognized the woman's outfit. Only the Sheriff's wife dressed as primly, and even Mrs. Nolan knew better than to stick to a single palette. Religious houses must buy their uniforms by the hundreds, she thought irreverently before composing herself.

The convent in the outskirts of town had been a hot topic when she had first arrived. Even the story of Storybrooke’s main landlord bringing under his roof the former girlfriend of his estranged son and their baby wasn't as scandalous as a nun leaving the convent to marry the town drunk.

According to the official version - meaning, from what Leroy's best buddies were happy to tell - he had come to town a few weeks after Sister Astrid took the veil and spent the next eight years in a downward spiral until he'd picked himself up, kicked off the bottle, and found a steady job. While several groused about the time the woman in question had taken to make her choice, Emma privately applauded that she'd waited until her prospective groom proved he was worth upsetting her whole life for.

Now she wondered whether she should give Astrid extra credit, if this was a face she'd confronted when she'd announced her decision.

"Yes, Sister?"

The woman's lips drew a perfect curve - Emma supposed that was a smile - and stepped forward confidently, obviously never considering that she was stepping in a stranger's personal space. Emma could have overlooked that. She already overlooked it every time Ruby Lucas took her arm to show her something or even hugged her without better reason than the moonlight was beautiful outside. This woman, however, made Emma lean back and glare before there was any actual contact.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" she asked, a little more loudly.

The nun's hands dropped into a demure position before her, as if she'd never meant to hold onto Emma's arm before even introducing herself. "No problem at all," she said sweetly. "I've been meaning to talk to you, Miss Swan. It's a very important matter."

Emma frowned. "O-kay," she said slowly, glancing at the other woman.

Her face pinched, and the nun gave an impatient huff. "In private, of course."

"Um. So you came looking for me in a crowded diner, when everyone in town knows my address, because you want to have a private conversation?"

"Hmph. There's no privacy in that house. Even if that man is out at work, his new bride will repeat everything to him, the silly girl."

Emma stared in disbelief. Only a fool would call Belle 'silly'. Distracted and annoyingly optimistic, sure, but that woman was smart as a whip. With a sinking heart, Emma realized that she must have attracted the attention of yet another person who had blinded themselves to the positive things about the Golds. "It's called communication," she said drily. "It's all the rage among healthy marriages. I would have thought you were in favor of that?"

The woman sniffed. "God allows mistakes so we can learn from them and become stronger in the unmaking of them," she said, her voice low but steady, as if she weren't wishing the end of one of the few truly happy couples Emma had run into.

Caught between her booth and the woman's body blocking her exit, escape involved pushing a nun aside. Emma set her jaw and pointedly took a long sip of her drink, looking straight ahead.

The nun sighed, moving to sit herself across Emma. "I mean you well, child," she said, eyes burning with righteousness.

Emma had met a couple of her type in prison. They belonged to every religion and denomination. The ones who were in the right and couldn't conceive otherwise. Armed with their sacred scriptures, from King James Bibles to vegan literature, they had been enlightened with the true meaning of life and were willing to drag everyone in their way along to their personal nirvana.

Arguments were useless.

It had been a woman like this whom Emma had approached when she'd decided to give her baby up for adoption, and it had been that same woman who'd complained long and loud when Gold had turned up and Emma had changed her mind.

If this nun dared to insinuate that Henry deserved better than a mother who would put his future above her own wishes, then Emma would not be responsible for the consequences.

"I knew Baelfire," the nun said instead. Emma blinked, and the other woman seemed to take it as curiosity. "He was in my Sunday school class since he was a little boy, and later he would come to me for advice," she explained. "Such a bright boy. He always listened and understood what I told him, and then would thank me for the help."

Emma shivered. Neal had never seemed the religious type; the closest they'd come to that stuff was a quick, giggly prayer over the Thanksgiving dinner they'd scrapped together from several stores without a single cent being involved. "I see," she said vaguely, then made to lift herself off the seat.

A hand closed around her wrist. "Wait," the nun said, and then added at Emma's stare, "please."

Still unwilling to provoke a scene, Emma sat again. "I need to get back home soon, Sister. What is it?"

"The fact is, Miss Swan, that I would feel at fault if I did not make clear that our doors are open for any people in need. It's not too late to put yourself and your son in good hands."

Emma felt her anger start to simmer. "Your hands, I guess?"

"My sisters and I would be overjoyed to welcome you. And you would find yourself free of the darkness and misery that surrounds the man who's currently aiding you."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "You're saying Gold is a bad man?" she asked in a whisper, needing to make sure she wasn't imagining this.

The nun nodded. "His wife left him. His son ran too." Her eyes dropped to the table in a gesture that should have reflected sadness and perhaps a little empathy, but Emma's senses fixed on the twinkle of glee the other woman couldn't quite hide. "I'm confident that with time Miss French will see reason as well."

"It's Mrs. Gold," Emma snapped. When the nun frowned, she said more loudly. "Belle hasn't been 'Miss French' in three years and, wow, no, you're wrong if you think she'll give up being Mrs. Gold any time soon."

The nun lifted her shoulders. "Be that as it may, it is you I worry about the most, Miss Swan."

"Well, don't," Emma told her harshly. "I'm doing good."

"But if you need a place..."

"I have a place!" Emma took a deep breath, waiting for the people who had turned at her protest would return to their own conversations. "Look, Sister," she said, dredging up all of her patience. She tried to remind herself that it was just another misguided townsperson trying to do her a favor, but somehow that excuse didn't fit this woman.

When Mrs. Lucas offered to rent her a room, the warnings had gone from earnest to casual deliveries after a few weeks. Now the older woman made pointed remarks about young people who needed their own space - and from Belle's blushes, it wasn't Emma to whom the comment was directed.

When Mary Margaret Nolan mentioned that there was a spare room in their house, and enough leftover furniture and clothes that their Leo had grown out of that there could be a second baby installed with minimum effort, she had taken a look at Emma's face, changed the subject without prompting, and never brought it up again.

Even Jones' offer hadn't seemed so forced. Emma wouldn't put her hands on the fire to vouch for the man's intentions, but he had seemed sincere in his desire to take care of an old friend's family while that friend was absent. Emma might have wished Jones would get the hint that she wanted no favors in Neal's name, but she hadn't felt so... targeted.

The woman before her, though, gave her a serious case of the creeps.

As ever, Emma responded to even the suggestion of fear with fire: "Look. I am perfectly happy where I am. My son is perfectly safe where I am. I don't need your charity, lady."

"It's Mother Superior," the nun corrected her.

Emma snorted. "Could be Hail Mary, ma'am. I'm still not listening to your crap."

A sharp gasp, followed by a condemning gaze.

Emma smothered a hoot of laughter. Seriously? How did a person still live in the 21st century and get upset at a little swearing? "Whatever," she said. "You get my point."

"Miss Swan," the nun said in a hurry, as Emma was already standing up. "I urge you to consider my offer. You might believe you're safe, but Mr. Gold brings nothing but suffering to those around him."

Emma remembered the last evening at home, playing chess with Belle while Gold pretended not to laugh every time they cheated and invented reasons to move their pieces to a more convenient spot. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she said, bending down so she didn't need to raise her voice. "So I suggest you take your advice and piss off."

"Miss Swan!"

"Oh, and lady? If your advice to Neal was that a son should run away without even letting his father know whether he's alive, then you better pray Gold never finds out." Emma smirked. "Pray hard, or the whole town will find out how long it takes to evict a convent."

The nun's expression hardened. "Well, I never!"

"Never pray?" Emma smiled at her look. "That would explain a lot, actually."

The nun stood, her back straight as a rod, mouth pursed into a thin, angry line. "I came to help you, Miss Swan."

Emma met her gaze without flinching. "But didn't you know, Sister?" she said, "The Lord helps those who help themselves."

With a noise of frustration, the woman finally left.

Emma breathed in relief. Then, from the corner of her eyes, she noticed Ruby closing in on her. "That's it," she decided, slipping between the other patrons in her way to the front door.

"Emma!" Ruby Lucas called out.

Emma only waved, then pointed at her bare wrist, to indicate that she was running out of time to get somewhere.

Ruby pouted. "See you tomorrow!" she yelled.

Emma nodded, adding a thumbs up for good measure. They weren't friends yet, but Emma had tentative hopes for the long term. She had no plans to leave Storybrooke, not even when she and Henry were finally in a position to have their own place. Not now that she finally felt like part of it.

Like she belonged.

Small towns might not be perfect, Emma thought. But there were great parts to living in one as well.

 

The End  
02/03/17

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! Please leave a comment. :)


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